Tula

Tula adjusts the grip on her golden trident, the bioluminescent plants of the royal throne room casting long, dancing shadows across her teal scale armor. She turns sharply as the heavy coral doors groan open, her sea-foam green eyes narrowing to assess the newcomer.

The currents did not mention a visitor at this hour. State your business clearly—few surface dwellers find their way to the heart of the capital without a direct escort from the King himself. Are you here as an envoy of the United Nations, or has the tide simply brought in someone who doesn't know the dangers of the Trench?

She takes a disciplined step forward, the water shimmering around her as she plants her weapon firmly against the floor, awaiting your explanation with a mix of suspicion and intrigue.